Rescue
by hawaiianflower
Summary: Oneshot. Chlollie. "a little less thinkin', and a lot more drinki', that'll work for me tonight." Chloe is sent to save oliver after downward spiral resulting from jimmy's death. episodes 901-905.


Disclaimer: Own no smallville rights.

Episodes: 901-905 downward spiral  
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Noise surrounds as I walk slowly into the bar. It's rundown, overcrowded and hot. Looking around, it doesn't take long to surmise that I'm the only woman with all of my clothing intact. There's plenty of men in need of saving here, but none the one I'm looking for. This is the 10th bar I've been to today, and Oliver Queen is still continuing his downward spiral.

I sigh, once again wishing Clark had asked someone else to rescue this lost soul. I look around again, double checking, before turning towards the door.

"Three more." Someone says to a nearby waiter, two sets of girlish giggles following.

Wait a second. I know that voice…a more sober version of that voice, but nonetheless, I can recognize it.

I turn around again, looking to where the voice came from.

Oliver Queen, looking worse for wear if I do say so myself.

I touch the waiter on his arm when he starts to walk away. "Make that two, instead of three." I smile, walking over to Oliver. "Shoo." I say to the girls.

They give me blank stares, each scantily-clad Barbie on either side of Oliver, who, to his credit, manages to give me his signature cocky smirk. "Go." He says simply to them.

They listen, glaring as they walk away and my smile disappears as I sit down next to him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Why the fuck does it matter? I'm not one of the good guys. You don't need me." He says, more disgust with himself in his voice than even I could muster at the moment.

I stare blankly at him. What had caused this? He was always so proud…now he was broken.

"I'm sorry." He mutters, staring into his drink as the waiter returns.

I sip mine. "For what?"

He looks up, his eyes meeting mine with sudden sobriety. "Jimmy." He takes his drink, tilting his head back and gulping it all down.

Damn. I can barely hold one drink.

Tears meet my eyes at the mention of Jimmy; the loneliness still so fresh. "That wasn't your fault…" I say softly, drinking the rest of mine. I may be a lightweight, but it's the only thing that will carry me through this conversation.

"Then who's is it?" he holds up two fingers, and the waiter soon returns to our table with two more drinks. He must have a tab or something…

"Mine…I killed my husband…" I whisper, horrified at myself. I had thought this for awhile, but I'd never had the guts to tell anyone, even Clark. So why was I opening up to him? To this hot mess version of Oliver? I swallow all of my drink, and take his. He's had enough. And by this point, I'm tipsy, drunk, lonely, hurt…

"No you didn't." He takes my hand, not ordering more this time. Apparently that annoying hero complex of his isn't entirely gone.

"I used the black Kryptonite. I split Davis." I say, raising my fingers for more.

"I involved him in the first place." Oliver hisses, as the world starts to spin. "Let's get you out of here."

"I don't blame you Ollie…" I say, my voice slurring a little. Yeah, I was following Clark's orders alright. This was exactly what he meant when he asked me to save Oliver.

He keeps a hold of my hand, leading me out of there. "That's not good enough, Chloe. Your forgiveness won't bring him back."

Were we really fighting over who killed Jimmy?

"Blaming yourself won't bring him back, either." I say, leaning against him as we walk the dark streets. He's the safest thing in this part of town, or so I think.

But it's more than that. I miss human contact. I haven't been held in months.

"Here's where I'm staying. I don't think you should drive home…" Oliver says softly after walking in silence for several minutes. We've stopped outside a grungy motel, but he's right. I can't drive. I can't even think straight. Because suddenly Oliver looks good…

I nod, and we go to his room.

One bed.

"I'll…sleep on the floor." He says, ruffling his hair as I sit down.

"I'm lonely." I say, looking at the floor. He doesn't say anything.

I reach out a trembling hand, taking his in mine again and pulling back, wordlessly. He comes with my hand.

"Chloe…You're drunk." He finally says, unconvincingly.

"So are you." I whisper, pulling myself up, my mouth inches from his.

That seems to be all it takes, as his mouth eagerly meets mine. Fleetingly at first, his tongue flicks open my lips, his hands, finding and gripping me at the hips. His fingers dig into my skin, pressing me to him. My body reacts immediately, it having been untouched for far too long. I push myself up higher, catching his lower lip in my teeth and lolling my head back.

I pull away just enough to twist him onto the bed, letting him nibble at my neck as my hands work their way down his shirt, unbuttoning him slowly, teasingly. Goosebumps on his chest rise everytime my fingers touch his flesh. I walk my fingers back up sliding his shirt off shoulders and arms.

He breathes heavily, kissing along my jaw and back up to my mouth, his tongue daringly exploring my mouth, as if he had done this with me plenty of times before. His hands slide my t-shirt up, breaking the kiss only long enough to get it over my head. His hands find my back, digging roughly but pleasurably into my shoulder blade before unhooking my bra.

I keep one hand on his chest, pinning him down once my bra falls off the side of the uncomfortable motel bed. The other hand slides down to his jeans, resting on the button as I feel him grow hard, responding to me before I unbutton them, pulling them off enough that he can kick them off along with his shoes and socks.

I kiss down his chest, licking and biting sparingly, his hands finding my jean-covered bottom and squeezing, pushing me slightly up, a low moan escaping his lips.

I smile to myself, a twisted part of my brain pleased that I can please the infamous playboy lying in my control, his body ready for me.

I pull my jeans and panties off, rolling away from his body as he slides his boxers off as well. Before either of us can think, he's pulled me back up to his mouth, my breasts going firm as I press closer.

Our tongues mingle again, playing cat and mouse while my thighs tighten around his waist, warm and wet for him, waiting to be filled. Oliver doesn't make me wait long.

In the morning, I wake to sheets scrunched tightly around my frame, my head killing me. The bed lies empty beside me, but my hangover reminds me how real last night was.

I'm sickened by myself, and by the realization that last night was the first time I didn't feel lonely in long while…even when Jimmy was alive.

The door opens, stirring me out of my thoughts.

Oliver raises his hand, holding a coffee, as if in surrender, when he sees my greeting glare. "Your favorite." He smirks, all the drunkenness of last night gone.

He's got scratches covering his face, a black eye and bruises all over. I'm not responsible for any, except perhaps the red teeth marks on his neck…

"You looked better when I was drunk…" I mutter, taking the coffee and pulling the covers tighter around me.

He laughs, the rich sound of it filling the motel room. His eyes once again hold his soul; the hollow look about him gone. Well, well, well…I guess I did my job after all…


End file.
